


Double Date at Tourniquet

by mackenziebutterschnapps (hannibalsbattlebot)



Category: Hannibal (TV), Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Crack Crossover, Everyone is a Cannibal, Hannibal is a Cannibal, M/M, Typical Night Vale Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-12 03:04:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3341192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibalsbattlebot/pseuds/mackenziebutterschnapps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will drops in on his long-lost cousin Carlos while on a roadtrip in the southwest. Hannibal tags along and is unamused by Night Vale's morbid whimsy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Double Date at Tourniquet

Will had forgotten places like this even existed—hot, dry, and sunny. Red bluffs and white clouds that stretched across the broad, intensely blue sky.

"It has a stark beauty," Will said, looking out at the landscape. Everything was sharp-edged and so bright.

"I prefer my landscapes lush," Hannibal said. They were pulling onto the road that, according to the directions Carlos had given them, would lead them straight into Night Vale.

They were a week into their cross-country road trip. While he had been planning out this sabbatical trip, Will had found out through Facebook that he had a cousin he had never known about who was living out in the desert.  He and his cousin exchanged a few emails. Will adjusted his route so they could meet up and have dinner together. Will didn't have much in the way of family and to find a cousin who, like him was a scientist and former teacher…well, he was very excited at the prospect of meeting him in person.

Will had been surprised when Hannibal asked to accompany him and be his "wheelman" on this cross-country trip. He said it would give him an opportunity to see his adopted homeland. Will agreed, figuring they would get as far as Wichita, boredom would set in and Hannibal would take the next flight to back east.

Hannibal, usually so fussy and particular about personal comfort, had surprised Will by being an excellent and uncomplaining traveling companion. He was even doing the bulk of the driving. Will was enjoying watching the country pass by, and they always made almost impossibly good time when Hannibal was at the wheel.

 

They made a turn onto a rutted, sand-blasted road, the asphalt crumbling at the edges into the surrounding dessert. It looked abandoned and unused.

"This doesn't look right," Will said.

"I'm following the directions," Hannibal said, holding the paper at arm's length and glancing between it and the road. "'Turn left on route 800. Do not turn right on route 800. That will take you to Desert Bluffs. Do not go to Desert Bluffs.' The directions are unambiguous on this point."

They drove around an out- cropping of rocks and saw a billboard. It was garishly purple and black, the color of a bruise. The message was straightforward.  "Tune in to Night Vale Community Radio for news, sports, traffic and weather."

Will put his hand on the car's radio button. "Huh. There's no station numbers on the sign. That's poor advertising."

"What could there be to say about the weather?" Hannibal asked, then looked at the empty road "or traffic?"

"I'm going to try to find it. There can't be many stations we can pick up out here."

Will turned the knob around, hearing mostly static, then a station that had a female voice reading an endless list of numbers.  Will turned the knob again and the interior of the car was filled with the plummy tones of a radio announcer.

"…recently received word that we will be having some visitors to Night Vale. Now, you know that Carlos doesn't like me to talk about our personal lives on the air, so I won't say anything about it…but I just had to mention it to you, listeners, because I am _so excited_.  Okay. So. Carlos has this cousin and he's a scientist too! And his cousin's boyfriend is also a scientist. Tonight it will be three scientists and me, just a humble radio host having an early bird dinner together at the hottest restaurant in town, Tourniquet. It will be so nice to go to Tourniquet and not wind up at Applebee's.  I wonder what our guests will want to talk about. A lot of science, I guess...Well, I see that it is almost time for me to go and meet them for dinner and I'm not nervous at all. Really." There was a beat of silence. "So while I get on my second-best tunic and furry pants, I bring you…the weather."

The station must have gotten interference because a bleat of music cut into the promised weather forecast. Will turned the radio off.

"Isn't your cousin's name Carlos?" Hannibal asked Will.

"Yes it is."

"And we are meeting him and his boyfriend at Tourniquet. Was that man just talking about us on the radio?"

"It would appear so."

"Small towns are getting efficient in their dissemination of local gossip."

They drove around another bend and they could  see the town for the first time. The effect of coming upon it so suddenly made it seem like it had materialized fully formed in front of them. Hannibal dropped his speed and they cruised along the main drag.

"Oh look, they have a dog park!" Will said.

"Please navigate, Will. What's my turn?"

Will took the paper with the directions on it. "The restaurant is on Old Ancients Blvd. It should be on your left."

It wasn't hard to find. The restaurant was new and shiny, sharp-edged like a metal box and gleaming in the sun. It was the only building on Old Ancients Blvd. Will didn't know, with all the dust and sand, how they managed to keep the gleaming façade so bright and spotless. Metal letters, backed with red neon, spelled out "Tourniquet" above the doors.

"This doesn't look so bad. It supposed to be the best restaurant in town."

Hannibal was wearing his long-suffering looks. "That is not a high standard. The only other restaurant I saw on the way in was an Arby's."

"Please try to be nice," Will said.

"I'm always nice," he said. "I'm as nice as a situation merits."

"Insulting the town isn't nice."

"It wasn't an insult, merely an observation. I saw an Arby's."

"In my head I can hear all the nasty things you aren't saying. You think at me very loudly."

Will got out of the car and stretched. "This dry heat is so nice. I almost forgot I owned short-sleeved shirts. I'm glad I dressed for the weather."

Hannibal got out of the car, buttoned his blazer and ran smoothing hands down his front and flanks.

"I'm perfectly comfortable as well.  I dress in breathable, non-synthetic fabrics."

"Is that sweat on your upper lip?"

Hannibal made a swipe that he disguised as a nose rub. "This town smells unusually pungent," he said.

"See. That's what I was talking about. Not nice."

"I didn't say it was unpleasant, just unusual and strong."

"Does the entire town have _encephalitis_?"

Hannibal looked thoughtful. "Perhaps."

Although the parking lot had been empty and there was no movement when they looked through the smoked glass windows, the restaurant was buzzing with activity when they went inside. There were a lot of people there, but there was also a literal buzzing noise, like the walls were filled with angry bees. Will didn't have the best track record when it came to claiming there were animals in the walls, so he didn't mention it.

"Are you with Cecil and Carlos' party?" a man standing at a host podium asked. He was wearing a long black cloak that flowed and eddied around him even as he stood still.

"Yes…"

"This way," he said, and glided into the dining room. The waiting area was crowded with people who all gave them sour envious looks as they walked through.

The host showed them to their table and disappeared.

Carlos rose and shook hands with them. Hannibal could see the family resemblance. Carlos had the same tumbling dark curls and charmingly scruffy dishevelment. He was wearing a spotless white lab coat.

"Cecil is finishing up his shift at the radio station. He'll be joining us soon."

"We heard part of his broadcast on the way in," Hannibal said. "There are no secrets in a small town, I gather."

"Was Cecil getting personal again?" Carlos wrinkled his nose. "I try not to listen. Don't tell him that but sometimes it can be…uncomfortable to hear him. He has a tendency to gush." Carlos smiled at a memory and blushed slightly.

At that moment, the man himself decided to show up. He was indeed wearing a tunic and pants that looked like they were crudely fashioned from some sort of coarse, dark pelt.

Hannibal stood and stuck out his hand, but the other man gave him a big hug instead. "It is _so good_ to meet you."  When he spoke, they recognized him as the voice from the radio.

Will, who was still seated, got a two-handed handshake.

The restaurant host was right behind Cecil. As soon as everyone was seated, he handed out the menus and disappeared again.

Hannibal wasn't looking at the contents of the menu, but at the front of it, where the name of the restaurant was.

"French cuisine and human remains," he said.

"What?" Will looked up sharply.

Hannibal tapped the menu. "That's what it says right here, below this ghastly illustration of...people wearing meat hats?"

"Soft meat crowns," Carlos said. "It's a Night Vale tradition."

"This is obviously an elaborate theme restaurant, a bit on the macabre side," Hannibal said dismissively. He had that smug look on his face that he got when he figured something or someone out and felt superior. 

"I thought that would be right up your alley," Will said. "You should feel at home here,  Mr. Decorates-With-Skulls."

"It's clever when I do it."

"Is it really, though?"

A waitress named Cynthia came by and asked if they were ready to order.

Will pointed to the menu. "What does this mean: 'prix fixe dinner comes with a choice of appetizer, entree, dessert, and sudden awareness of a hideous suppressed memory.'?"

"You don't want that," Hannibal and Cecil said simultaneously. 

"I think we need a minute," Carlos told Cynthia.

"So…" Cecil said, elbows on the table, leaning forward. Aside from his bizarre dress, Cecil was unremarkable in appearance, but the moment he opened his mouth, Will found that his entire attention was on what the man had to say. It was a strange feeling, since Will was so used to relating to the world visually, to be drawn in aurally. "Carlos tells me you two are scientists too."

"Yes," Will said at the same time Hannibal said "After a fashion."

"I wrote standard monograph on time of death by insect activity," Will said, more to Hannibal, who often forgot that Will was not just another pretty face and a bundle of dysfunctions.

"Wait, so are you a scientist or a writer?" Cecil asked.

"Both, actually. I'm also a teacher."

"I used to teach, before I devoted myself to field work," Carlos said. "I didn't really like it."

"It would be fine if it wasn't for the students," Will said and they shared a chuckle.

"And you, Hannibal," Cecil said. "You're a scientist too?"

"I study the human condition," he said, then, in an effort to be nice, he clarified. "I'm a psychiatrist."

"I'm not familiar with the term, but it sounds neat," Cecil said.

"A therapist," Hannibal explained. "I help people with their mental and emotional issues."

"Nope," Cecil said cheerfully. "Still no idea. But I'm sure its very exciting for you."

"If someone is—"

"Seeing things that aren't there," Will offered.

"--I help them to deal with that."

"Why would someone need help if they are seeing things that aren't there? Our waitress Cynthia lives in an apartment building that isn't really there and we've all seen it."

"If everyone has seen it, then it is there," Hannibal said.

"It really isn't," Carlos said. "I've experimented on it with all my instruments and it does not exist."

Hannibal had no hand retort to this, but was saved from replying when a man in chef's whites came over to their table. He was a readhead, with a smattering of freckles across his nose and cinnamon-brown eyes.

"Cecil, Carlos, are these your guests?"

"Earl, this is Will and Hannibal. Guys, my friend Earl is the chef here."

"Please, Cecil. Sous chef."

"So you are the one who prepares human remains in the French style?" Hannibal said archly.

"Guilty," he said with a smile, holding his hands up in mock-surrender.  "You know, I had a fresh shipment of hearts come in today and I held them back because I had the feeling I would need something special. Let me whip you up something, off menu."

"How do you intend to prepare these hearts? It can be a difficult meat to handle for the uninitiated. A light sear, perhaps?"

There was something flinty in the chef's brown eyes. "Tonight I  have braised  our hearts in a Luftnarpian merlot which I find is a nice compliment to the flavor of all the fears and dreams the heart has been marinating in since it began to beat until it finally, mercifully, stopped."

"What did you marinate it in after it stopped beating?"

"Proprietary spice rub," Earl said.

"I'll have that," Hannibal said and handed his menu to Earl.

"Looks like we have a couple of foodies," Cecil said. "I'm just happy I didn't have to bring my own food, so I'll have whatever. Chef's choice."

Will ordered the same as Hannibal and Carols said he's have the Portobello mushroom "extra rare."

Earl took the menus and left.

"I'm interested to see what kind of humbuggery comes out of that kitchen," Hannibal said to the table at large.

Will smiled. He knew what Hannibal looked like off-kilter. He had been thrown first by Cecil's greeting hug and then his cheerful refusal to acknowledge psychiatry existed.  Hannibal was trying to right himself and poor Earl got the brunt of his condescension.

Hannibal leaned over to Will. "That man, Earl. He smelled like nutmeg, if nutmeg were a living animal."

"I can usually unpack your metaphors, but that one's lost on me," Will said.

"Earl does a cooking segment on Cecil's show," Carlos said.

"I would love to learn how to cook," Cecil said "but I don't have the upper body strength, protective eye wear or the proper immunizations."

Will wasn't really  listening. He was looking out the window, still searching his memory for any classical allusions to nutmeg, and didn't immediately register the monstrosity walking slowly and deliberately down the road in front of the restaurant. A great scaly beast whose various heads moved and swayed like branches in the breeze. One head swiveled and looked in the restaurant window. Will saw into the creatures eyes. The irises were like flames, a ring of red and then deepening to electric blue around the reptilian vertically slit pupil.

"Huh," Will said. "I've never hallucinated dragons before."

 A forked tongue flicked out and made a bang against the widow like a fist. Carlos jumped. Cecil turned in his chair.

"That's right, Hiram," Cecil said to the figure on the other side of the glass. "I got a reservation first!"

The dragon huffed steam out of its nostrils, fogging the glass. Then the head turned away and the beast continued on his way.

"You saw that?" Will asked.

"Hiram? Yes. As far as I know, he always manifests in a set corporeal form. Unlike _some_ people who are inconsiderate about things like 'calling ahead' and 'having a physical manifestation that remains consistent.' I mean, I don't mind if someone wants to change their hair or gender or species. Who hasn't? But you should at least physically manifest when you've been invited somewhere, right?"

"Wait. You saw the dragon."

"His name is Hiram McDaniels," Carlos said. "He ran for mayor. Lost, though, so you might not want to mention it in conversation."

"Hannibal, did you see the dragon?"

"I was looking at the wine list. They have wines from places that don't exist from years that have not yet occurred. I'm trying to decide if this is a failed attempt at whimsy or a clumsy attempt at fraud."

Will turned to Cecil. "So what does it mean? Is he a representation of repressed homicidal tendencies? A five-sided symbol of betrayal? "

"Hiram's not a symbol. He is literally a five-headed dragon."

"Oh," Will said, a little let down.

"This is why I decided to do my field work here," Carlos said. "This town is so interesting."

Hannibal finally tossed the wine list away in disgust.

"So," Cecil said to Will "in Baltimore you don't have any dragons or sentient glowing clouds or other hellish beasts from your deepest nightmares that assume physical shape and walk or float or crawl the land, sometimes showing up on the line behind you at the grocery store or running for public office?"

"Not really. Just the occasional stag man. Tall black figures with dead eyes and deer antlers and an insatiable taste for human flesh."

"Oh. Those," Cecil said.

"Other than the antlers, that sounds a lot like Erika," Carlos said.

"Who is Erica?"

"Definitely not an angel, no sir. And its Erika, with a K" Cecil sat back and squinted a little. "This might be before your time, Carlos, but we used to have a whole herd of stag men out by Radon Canyon. They mostly stayed to themselves, only occasionally venturing into town to eat our hostas or carry away one of our slower-moving elderly. Eventually they were wiped out by the merciless and untrustworthy native deer population during the Great Cervine Wars."

"Cecil," Hannibal said. "I would like to talk to you more about psychiatry…"

Will pinched his leg under the table.

"Okay, everyone," Earl interrupted. He had come back with a loaded serving tray. He made a point of serving Hannibal first.

"Please," he said "Tell me what you think."

Earl waited expectantly as Hannibal raised a thin translucent slice of red meat to his mouth. He wafted it, sniffing and then put it in his mouth.

"Its delicious," he said. "My compliments to the chef."

Earl beamed.

"It doesn't hurt to be nice," Will said once the happy chef had left.

"It is actual human flesh," he said, putting another forkful in his mouth.

Will looked down at his plate at the nicely styled thin-shaved slices of actual human heart. He had thought this part of his life was over.

 

After dinner, Hannibal picked up the check--then looked at it in puzzlement and handed it to Cecil.

"This looks pretty standard. All restaurants use Sumerian shorthand notation on their checks," he said. "I'll settle this up. Carlos, why don't you walk our guests out? Its getting late and they should probably be back on the main road before sunset."

Carlos and Will walked ahead. Hannibal hung back. There was something off about this man and he wanted a moment alone to talk to him. He was either very mentally ill or feigning it for some purpose.

"Cecil," he said. "Does your family live in Night Vale?"

"I don't really remember. But the whole town is like my family, and I have Carlos, so there is no need for me to ask any questions."

Cecil took a handful of pebbles out of his pocket and put them on the table in a neat circle, crumpled the bill in the middle and set fire to it with the table's votive candle.

"You may be repressing memories of something traumatic in your past."

"Well, of course I am," Cecil said just as cheerful as ever. " How else can a person get through the day without the crippling realization of their insignificant non-place in the universe freezing them into immobility unless they suppress their formative memories?"

"One can confront the people who have hurt them in the past," Hannibal said. "That is my profession. I am a facilitator, and enabler. I think I could help you. You like science. That's all this is. Science of the mind, of the unseen forces that are not around us, but in us."

Cecil very slowly looked up at the taller man. Hannibal saw a flash of something dark and ancient in his eyes. He had the uncomfortable and unfamiliar feeling of being sized up, seen accurately, and dismissed.

"I would love to hear more about your mind science. Later.  When I have the time to listen to every. Single. Word. Do you have some way for me to contact you? Maybe a business card?"

Hannibal recoiled just slightly and in that moment, the darkness was gone from the other man's eyes.

"Well, let's get you on the road," he said, walking towards the restaurant entrance, which was not where Hannibal remembered it being. "Night Vale residents are very friendly but also slightly suspicious of outsiders. If you are still here when it gets dark, a friendly mob will find you, circle around you and fall upon you as one as if heeding some unseen signal and tear you apart until you are dust and smoke and the shared memory of soul-shuddering screams of terror. This is, of course, mandatory and standard treatment of interlopers--but why am I telling you this? A seasoned traveler such as yourself knows the etiquette of visiting other people's towns."

Cecil laughed and even through the menace, Hannibal could hear how musical his laugh was. Cecil held open the door. "So you know how important it is that you are on your way. I would hate for _anyone_ to touch a perfect hair on Will's perfect head."

The smile and laugh were gone and he fixed Hannibal in his gaze like a bug on a pin.

"Anyone."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
